Time & Place
by Sue Shay
Summary: Tag 06x20 SPOILERS - Jane isn't sure what noble means, but he does understand love. Why can't Lisbon understand it just like he does? (This story is the result of my frustrations with these two intelligent idiots.) T for language. May go M later.
1. Time

Jane had perfect eidetic memory. Normally.

When he'd first sat in Cho's car so many months ago, he'd given an intense glance at the controls just in case something happened during the crime scene investigation they'd ridden to. Wouldn't be the first time he'd suddenly needed to get away from an irate witness or the irritation of local law enforcement, so he always prepared to drive his ride.

Earlier today when he borrowed the car – with Cho's full knowledge and permission – Jane didn't think twice about where everything was. The key found the ignition without a second thought on Jane's part. The gear shift, the pedals, even the radio controls were exactly where his memory directed his hands and feet. There was no hesitation whatever.

Then_ Pike _answered the door. God! It was late, just like Lisbon had indicated. What was _he _doing there at that time of night?

Well, of course Jane knew what Pike was doing there. True, the art major…er…art _agent_ was fully clothed, and Lisbon hadn't appeared at the door with a hastily donned robe. If there were a god, Jane would be thanking it for the small favor. It was bad enough that Mr. Gentleman answered the door. Mr. "He's-There-For-Me" opened and didn't even smirk at his obvious victory. _Bastard_.

It rattled Jane enough that returning to Cho's car was a little like being dropped into Apollo 11 during a moon mission after having only an Etch-A-Sketch to practice on. Jane stared at the dark dashboard, overwhelmed with flooding memories of fifteen different vehicles he'd travelled in since returning to the States. And Lisbon's Volt. And her Charger. And her Mustang. No, that was Cho's Charger. Or…Van Pelt's? No, Van Pelt had a Jeep. With Iowa plates that said "ZOOOM" but should have said "NAÏVE" or "HOPEFUL" or something.

Jane gripped the steering wheel like it was made up of McAllister's DNA. Or Pike's neck. Except…

As though gripping bare electrical wires, Jane's hands shook with a vibrating shock. He released the wheel, flexing his fingers as the rage left his body. Jane thought himself only capable of strangling one man, and that bastard was now dead. Sure, he had threatened Haibach; however, most of that was part of the con, despite Jane's deep concern for Grace's safety. But no matter what other sadness filled Jane, no matter what disappointment, he couldn't bring himself to contemplate violence against Pike. Nausea filled him at the thought that he'd even considered it for Mr. Perfect over jealousy of Pike's status as an 'unbroken' man, the 'untarnished' mate.

Jane sighed, struggling to regain perspective and calm within his heart and thoughts. He meant what he'd said to Lisbon. He wanted her to be happy – happier than Life had ever allowed before or since meeting him.

Marcus Pike was a good guy who could bring that. According to office scuttlebutt, he'd been married before and had divorced. A smart man like him had let it go, choosing not to relive his grief, working around getting stuck in his disappointment and made the healthy decision to get past it. Hell, he'd probably even figured out where it had gone wrong and vowed to never allow his relationships to go that way again.

And Lisbon had led The Cop Life for a long time, probably too long to be thrown back into the role of foot soldier which is what she'd remain if she stayed in Austin. Going to DC and settling down might be good for her. Perhaps she could take a job teaching. Her leadership skills would serve her well there. A position at the FBI Academy instructing cadets about combating evil in the world? Maybe even hit the lecture circuit? The Agent Who Brought Down Red John and Exposed the Largest Law Enforcement Corruption Ring in the West.

Jane sighed again, wondering if his lungs were being pushed out of his chest, heavy with the weight of guilt and sadness pressing on him. He really wanted Teresa to be in the best place possible.

So why did Washington DC seem like a death sentence?

Fumbling in the dark, Jane finally found the ignition slot and inserted the key. With another sigh, he turned it only to have nothing happen. _What the hell…?_

Oh, that was the problem. Cho's vehicle was a manual transmission. Press the clutch while tu-

Movement in the corner of his view made him look over. Lisbon's front door opened and a tall man stepped out.

Shit! Lisbon would think he was stalking her if she saw him! Jane ducked in the seat just as voices reached him. Shouted, angry words, although he couldn't make out them out. Reaching up, he maneuvered the rearview mirror to catch the action, but the damned thing wouldn't turn far enough.

"-You can have him!" Pike shouted.

"But Marcus…"

Cho would have to forgive him, but Jane pulled hard, yanking the mirror right off the glass. Excuses raced through his head, sorted by plausibility. The words "What really happened?" in Cho's voice dismissed every lie as Jane thought them up.

Holding the mirror just so, Jane could see an agitated Pike silhouetted in the porch light, arms flailing as words evaded him. Lisbon remained in the doorway as Pike continued to thrash and an unintelligible rant picked up. At one point, she stepped forward, reaching to caress his face, but Marcus struck her hand away, knocking it into the door jamb. Lisbon brought it to her chest, rubbing it soothingly but Pike didn't even notice.

Jane felt a hot stone form in his chest behind his breastbone and he contemplated throwing himself out of the car, racing to intervene. However Marcus didn't touch her again, and she simply stared, her expression growing harder. Pike turned away, walking up the sidewalk directly towards Cho's car. Jane dropped down again, expecting any minute that Pike would be trying the car door and yanking Jane out by his collar.

Instead an engine started and a car accelerated away.

What to do next? He wanted to get out and console Lisbon, but his intuition told him that it would be awkward when she realized what he'd witnessed. Besides, the fight was _about_ _him_. He knew that. Clearly the lovers hadn't been fighting before he arrived. Was Pike that insecure? It hadn't seemed so before.

Then again, Jane hadn't before shown up at 11:30 at night bearing gifts. In fact, Jane had taken such a 'hands off' stance; it wouldn't surprise him if Pike assumed Jane to be a eunuch.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Or would be if not for his mastery of biofeedback which gave him the ability to suppress both the effects of alcohol for ten shots of cheap booze and a raging hard-on prompted by the sexiest woman this side of the Pecos. Or even the other side of the Pecos.

Jane raised his mirror—sorry, Cho's mirror-up to look for Lisbon. She was braced against the door jamb, looking the direction in which the vehicle sped away.

_Oh, Teresa, that idiot doesn't know what he's doing. He just made his biggest fear about my intentions come true when they didn't have a chance before._

As he watched, Lisbon shook her head and walked into her house.

Jane took a deep breath and started the car. He needed to be away before she looked out the window with a calmer mind and recognized Cho's vehicle. After checking the side view mirror, he pulled away from the curb and started down the street.

Then his phone rang. _Her_ ringtone, the Cuban song called 'Dos Gardenias'.

_Two gardenias for you;_

_With them I wish to say:_

_I love you, I adore you, my life_

_Place all your attention on them,_

_because they are your heart_

_and mine._

He smiled and listened just a moment longer. She wouldn't recognize the song, being that it was a Cuban standard that he first heard on his island, and that was why he chose the tune. It was perfect to him, gardenias being his favorite flower AND symbolic of a secret love.

But why the hell was she calling him? Had it been a misdial? Had she intended to ring Marcus to demand an apology but when it came to apologies her fingers automatically dialed him?

No choice but to answer, preferably in his lighthearted tones.

"Hello, Lisbon. Didn't like the cannoli?"

"Jane? A-are you still…still around?"

"I'm…at the…uh, Texaco a few blocks away. I needed gas after driving to the restaurant in Dallas. Do you need something? Cream for your coffee? Tiramisu instead of the cannoli?"

"Patrick…can you come back?"

He stared at the empty street before him, dimly aware that the car was slowing and in danger of stalling because his foot had come off the accelerator.

"Teresa…I…I'll be right there."

He'd barely stepped onto the porch and raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. While she stared at him not speaking, not moving, not even seeming to breathe, he studied her face.

* * *

No tears currently on her face although it was evident there had been some before. What had Pike said to her to make her cry in the short time between Jane's departure and Marcus's stormy exit?

Unless…it was…? No, it couldn't be for him. Although she looked stunned at his confession that he truly wanted her to be happy, he didn't intend any kind of-of-of guilt trip.

Well…maybe a tiny bit. But hell, he couldn't help it. He was a little hurt that she hadn't told him that she was considering a transfer. Based on the looks of sympathy he'd garnered from everyone in the FBI building lately, he was the _only_ one she hadn't told. And here he thought it was simply because she was _dating_.

But he didn't intend tears. He never wanted tears for his darling Lisbon. As strong as she was, tears meant _severe_ pain, more pain than when Sam Bosco was killed. Worse pain than when she herself was shot. To know he was the cause would be like a slow torture to him, something he couldn't escape.

"Teresa…what's wrong? What's going on?"

Her face twitched as though she were unclenching her jaw.

"You. That's what's wrong."

He'd barely had time to absorb her words when she grabbed his arm and yanked.

"Get in here."

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Place

_Wow. Well…what can I say? Your response to this simple piece is overwhelming to me. I'm glad so many people like this tag to ITB, especially considering I almost didn't post it. If it hadn't been for __**Chris "Make-Mine-A-Kiaora"**__ and __**Cumberland River Relic**__ suffering through my 'puke it out' draft and still seeing a spark of potential, this might have stayed in the "This Will Never See the Light of Day" file on my computer. And then their speedy, timeless help with this chapter! Thank God these two talented writers are so supportive and encouraging when my writer's block and self-doubt gets the better of me. Definitely great friends! You should check 'em out._

_Oh! And I still don't own The Mentalist or any of the characters! Alas!_

Lisbon examined Jane, mentally shaking her head.

There was no way Jane had been at the gas station. He'd just arrived too fast for him to have come from a mile away. More like from a block away, maybe.

And the way he looked at her when she first opened the door – the "Caught Rabbit" look. No…the "Caught Rabbit Going into the Hasenpfeffer" panicked expression.

"Why did you come?" she demanded, slamming the door as she released his arm which caused him to stumble into the living room.

"You called m—"

"I mean before. Why the hell did you damn come here at damn 11 o'clock in the middle of the damn night?"

He gaped for a few seconds, his mouth opening and closing as if words were refusing to come.

"Tell me the truth for a change!" she yelled. "You frustrating pain in the ass!"

That was another look she recognized; fear that she was going to punch him, the fear that made her feel like the schoolyard bully. But dammit, it was time for some truth!

"I'm tired of your ego getting in the way of knowing what's real. Did you come here to gloat? Because you can forget it. Between your ego and Marcus's, I'm pretty much beaten down. What about my feelings? About any of this?"

"Wait…what? What about Marcus's ego?"

"He thinks I'm cheating on him with you! Somehow he thinks that you would finally surface from this self-imposed cesspool you swim in just so you could stop by and fuck me with a cannoli!"

It was a sight to behold – a slack-jawed, completely stunned Patrick Jane. Disgust welled up in her, revulsion that he couldn't see what he was doing to her on so many levels. She wasn't good enough for him to even consider loving, but when she goes elsewhere for the affection she deserves, she finds herself in the arms of a different kind of egomaniac, one who flies into a jealous rage because she was crying for another man. Both of these fucking idiots said they understood and cared how she felt, but really all they cared about was themselves and their fucking egos.

She turned away, raising her hand to her forehead, ignoring the burning in her throat, the raw pain behind her breastbone, the tremors that she felt trying to take over her body.

"Teresa—"

She spun back to him. "Don't call me that! Only those who _love_ me can call me that, and you've made it clear that you can never love me."

"What? Why do you say I've never loved you?"

"Because you're too busy licking your damned wounds to even consider it! You think you're the only one who was damaged by this thing you've gone through? You think no one else lost anything those ten years you spent hunting McAllister?" She thumped her chest. "_I've_ lost! I've lost twelve years of my life waiting for you to declare yourself ready to love me. To love anything except that big ball of self-pity that you probably consider a heart."

She resumed her pacing, rubbing the ache in her wrist created when Marcus knocked her hand away.

_It was an accident. Surely he didn't mean to hurt me…_

"Teresa…"

"I said, don't call me that!"

A sigh escaped him as he stepped towards the sofa. She expected him to flop into it like a fainting damsel, but instead he merely collapsed into himself a little.

"And what about _you_?" he asked. "How is it my fault that when I tried to take care of you, it came back to bite me in the ass?"

Her face tightened as she turned to glare at him.

"What are you fucking talking about?"

He shrugged and angled his body away from her, for all the world looking like he was about to scuff his toe into the carpet while acting hurt and put upon. The fully grown child, that's what he was.

"There's no need to swear."

"Don't tell me what to do! Now explain what you mean."

_Okay, so I just told him not to boss me but then I bossed him…_

From what she could see of his expression, she realized he'd had the same thought. But dammit, she couldn't allow it to redirect her. Using all her strength, she maintained her glare. He _owed_ her, dammit!

"I tried to help you," he said softly. "When I was escaping the country, I read enough about what happened with the Blake Association to know that you were out of a job and not likely to get another one soon. You'd aided and abetted a fugitive who went on to strangle a…"

He rolled his eyes and made air quotes.

"…law enforcement officer to death. Your _gun_ was found on a dead police detective. Until the whole truth had a chance to come out, you were as tainted as I was, and it would be a while before Abbott figured out what had happened, although I knew he would eventually."

With a sigh, he hitched his slacks and sat on her sofa.

"I had no idea if my letters were finding a way to you, since Sam and Pete couldn't write to tell me if you'd moved or if they were able to keep track of you. Had I found some way to call you I would have known you were okay. But I couldn't…so I had to use whatever means I did have to make sure you had a future. The FBI wanted me. _Needed_ me. And I made them need you too. But then you yelled at me for making you indispensable when all I really wanted was for you to be happy."

He glanced at her guiltily before dropping his gaze to his clasped hands.

"You…you were being wasted in Washington, Teresa. You're such a good cop. You're such a great _person_. You need to take care of people who have problems, not…not teach bicycle safety to twelve-year-olds who don't know better than to ride without a helmet."

The clasp of his hands tightened, the skin going white around his fingers' clench. Or whiter, actually, since he looked pale already.

"And don't deny that you've loved working at the FBI. I've seen your skills increase ten-fold because you don't have the additional responsibil-"

"You're the damned reason I had so many managerial responsibilities, Jane!"

He released his hands and nodded, still not looking at her.

"I-I-I know, I know. And I feel bad about it, Te-"

"Don't call me Teresa!"

Finally he raised his gaze to hers. _Finally._ But then she was mortified that he did. His eyes were red rimmed and flooding. The tears of Patrick Jane – something she'd never witnessed before.

"If your criterion is that only people who love you may call you 'Teresa', then the privilege has been mine for longer than I've been able to admit to myself. I'm just sorry I didn't exercise that right. I didn't realize how badly it was affecting you. Teresa…I've loved you for a very long time."

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


End file.
